Red Shirt
by Forseti Purge
Summary: Steve heads to Sacramento to meet an old ally...little does he know what's waiting for him there. Two chapters, one-shot. RATE AND REVIEW PLEASE THANKS.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Mentalist and Hawaii Five-0 are not mine. This story, all of it, is.

ONE

Sacramento, California

Patrick Jane raised his glass. "To CBI."

"To CBI."

It had been a long day for the CBI team. They had just caught a murderer, courtesy of, as always, Jane's deduction. On their way back to HQ, they stopped at a 24/7 diner. Van Pelt's idea. She'd said the place offered good stuff to eat. It did. They munched happily and gracefully, rewarding themselves after cracking a tough case.

"Chai tea, please," Van Pelt said to the waitress when they finished with the entree. "Make it a pot." She winked at his frowning compatriots. "My treat. You guys will like it."

* * *

><p>Jane considered himself diehard pure tea fan, but now he was sipping down his cup...<p>

Well, he'd make exception for this. Van Pelt was right; he did like it. Its spicy, milky sweetness soothed him well. Relaxed him.

Suddenly it didn't.

He put down the cup. _Something's wrong. What? __This tea?_

No. It was something his eyes caught...Just now. What? Where—

Then he saw. Three Chinese, with big duffel bags, who'd just come in and sat in the corner. They...were wearing what seemed to be soccer jerseys. Red. Pure red. Whole red. No stripes. Far as he remembered, there was no California MLS team whose jersey was pure red.

He picked out a name on one of the Chinese. "Can I borrow your phone real quick, Lisbon?"

Lisbon tossed her iPhone. Quickly, Jane googled "solskjaer". Found the man was a Norwegian. A legend in the English Manchester United.

Manchester United. Jane googled again, see if Manchester United played somewhere in California about this month.

None.

They were staring at the door, Jane saw. He dug his pocket, picked a rubber band. His father—if that miser and liar could be called one—taught him to be resourceful like MacGyver. Always have simple things like this in your pocket, the old man said.

_Could've been good father, if only he's not that greedy, _Jane thought as he stretched the band and took aim.

"Jane, what are you—"

_TZIIIIIING—_

_Slap!_

"Ouch!" The band hit one of the Chinese at its nape. The guy and his friends glanced back. "What the hell is that, man?"

Jane pointed his finger at Rigsby. "He did it!"

"What? I—"

"Jane!" This from Lisbon. "What do you think you're doing?"

Jane didn't listen to Lisbon's rant, didn't glance at his compatriots' shocked stare. He only saw those Chinese were staring at the door again. Already.

* * *

><p><em>Don't think about all those things you fear.<em>

Steve McGarrett chuckled, jacked up the volume.

_Just be glad to be here._

FC Kahuna. Hafdis Huld. Her voice was...music. Real music. Refreshed by her voice, Steve stamped the pedal, gun his rental Mercedes faster on the roads of Sacramento.

_Danny would have a field__ day if he knows I like this kind of music. _But why not? Who said ex-SEALs cannot listen to...womanly...euphony? Everyone has his own taste of music! For Steve, the world was rough enough already to listen to throat-burning screaming or mourning junk kids like nowadays. Even he needed break sometimes.

But he couldn't afford one.

As long as Wo Fat is still alive. The man behind his family's murders. The man behind all this misery and mystery. Steve had sworn to himself, the day he knew Wo Fat controlled the dirty Governor, who ordered the murder behind his father.

_I'll kill that son of a bitch._

To do that he would do anything. Everything. If he had to come to Antartica to get a footprint of Wo Fat's boot, he would. Even though he preferred not, he just would. Anything that would lead him to Wo Fat, he would chase it.

Nevertheless, Steve definitely preferred Sacramento over Antartica. Just two days ago, he'd gotten a call from Kaye. The CIA analyst.

"Steve."

"Jenna."

"I have a lead on Wo Fat."

"Where can I meet you?"

"You're so blunt, you know?"

"Where can I meet you?"

"Not in Hawaii. Wo Fat's men are watching you."

"I can handle them."

"I'd rather not risk it. And not in Langley either. I'm also being watched."

"So where?"

"Let's meet in Sacramento. Middle point between here and Hawaii."

"Fair enough."

"I'll tell you where we'll meet once you're in town." Click.

* * *

><p>"Lisbon, listen."<p>

"No, you listen—"

"Lisbon." Jane lowered his body and voice both.

Lisbon paused. Thought. Childish as he was, Jane rarely did something pointless. He liked to piss people off, sure, but he always had something behind that. Come to think about it, he wouldn't have pissed off those—those Chinese in the corner without a reason.

Her agents, too, seemed to realize that now.

"What?"

"Those Chinese. No, don't look at them. They're intent to do something bad."

"And you know that how?"

"Three guys, wearing same jersey of a foreign soccer team that's nowhere near California. How likely is that?"

"Maybe they're watching at friends' house."

"Or maybe, they want any witness of their crime remember those red shirts." Jane lowered his body even lower, and she and her agents followed. "It's classic misdirection. You make people so focused on one detail they neglect to remember anything else. Why don't you check your pocket, Rigsby?"

Rigsby did. "My wallet is gone."

Jane tossed it to him. How he managed to keep his face straight was beyond Lisbon; she wanted to punch and clapped him at the same time.

"See?"

"I see. But still—"

"No still. You ever rubber-banded someone? That's painful. People will not forget the pain, much less the anger, within six seconds. If those people are innocent they'd have come to our table and kick my ass already." He flickered his head. "They're watching the door. They're planning an ambush, I think. Probably with assault rifles, given the size of their bags."

Silence.

"What are we gonna do about it?" Cho said.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The Mentalist and Hawaii Five-0 are not mine. This story, all of it, is.

There it is! The revelation. Short and sweet. I'd rather make my story brief but concluded rather than long but dragging. Always, reviews are loved.

TWO

"Excuse me, I think I'd like to smoke a bit." Rigsby rose.

Van Pelt and Cho followed.

Van Pelt: "Bathroom, boss."

Cho: "Yeah, we've got a long journey."

Rigsby walked out the diner, cigarette between his lips already; while Van Pelt and Cho headed to the bathroom, disappearing behind the door soon enough. Fortunately for the CBI, the diner used filmed windows, and the bathroom and the Chinese' corner were at the same direction.

_Couldn't spook these people_, Lisbon thought. Three people, trigger-hairy, with assault rifles. Last thing she wanted to see was firefight in a place full of civilians. Almost unconsciously, she reached down to her waist. Her gun. Her most trusty friend, after her team—

"Relax," Jane said. "Don't think about all those things you fear."

Lisbon grunted.

"Lisbon. Have some faith."

"On that waitress you picked out less than two minutes ago?"

Less than two minutes ago, Jane called their waitress.

"Yes?"

"We're with the CBI," Jane said, pointing at Lisbon's badge. "We're thinking that those Chinese on the corner want to do something criminal. We need your help."

"Of course, obviously, anything. What should I do?"

"First, I'd like to order the fried lobster and French fries. Make it two. Take home."

The waitress opened her note, wrote the order. A waitress serving customers. She didn't seem to understand how fried lobster and French fries could help. Lisbon had no time to explain. The order was to give the CBI team reason to hang around even though their dinner was finished. _So we seem to be waiting, _Jane had said. So the sudden exodus—Rigsby's getting out for smoking and Cho and Van Pelt's trip to the bathroom—didn't look suspicious.

"Second, we need to borrow your cigarette and lighter."

"How do you—"

"Your lips are black, your fingers are stained, and you smell too much mouthwash to cover the halitosis. Now, please?"

She handed her lighter and Morley.

"Finally, we need you to…"

* * *

><p>Bringing a pot of orange juice with her, the waitress passed the Chinese' table—<p>

Then tripped and spilled all over it.

"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry—"

"What the hell?"

"What did you do?"

"Damn it. Clean it up, for God's sake, woman!"

"I'm sorry," the waitress muttered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She wiped their table as clumsily as she could, knocking and shattering out the Chinese' plates. She was more messing than cleaning, and that occupied the Chinese.

Exactly then, Jane sent OK texts to Cho and Van Pelt and Rigsby. Quietly, Cho and Van Pelt stepped out the bathroom and stole toward the scene, their hands on their holstered guns.

"Hey, waitress," Jane shouted across the diner. "Where's our order?"

The waitress looked up. "Coming, I'm coming, sir." Then hurriedly left—

At the same time when Cho and Van Pelt reached the table, their guns out and up at two of the Chinese.

"CBI. Hands where we can see them."

A strong knock at the window followed. Rigsby. He took the one Van Pelt and Cho didn't cover, shouting a stern "don't even think about it".

* * *

><p>"What is this?" one of the Chinese said. "What do you people think you're doing?"<p>

"Preventing a crime from happening," Lisbon heard Jane said. They were walking to the scene, joining their compatriots.

_Perfect ambush, _Lisbon thought. Bold, but beautiful. At times like this, she was always thankful Jane was with them.

"A crime? What crime?"

"An attempt on someone's life. Also known as an assassination."

Those Chinese turned pale.

"Sir, please stand up and step aside," Lisbon said. "Now. That's an order."

The Chinese had no choice, obeyed. As Cho and Van Pelt watched them, Lisbon patted their duffels down. And felt what felt to be rifles. "Weapons." She zipped them open.

Three AK74s. Fifteen magazines. Forty five hundred bullets.

_Not under my watch, _Lisbon said to herself. She turned around, her gun out. "Cuff them."

* * *

><p>Steve arrived at the diner. The scene inside stunned him. On a table at the corner, there sat three—Chinese, cuffed and guarded by cops. <em>Kaye? Wo Fat? <em>Steve rushed there, fear and questions boiling inside him."Excuse me, excuse me, what's going on?"

The smallest of the cop turned around, held her hand up. "Please back off, sir. We're with California Bureau of Investigation. This is a crime scene."

"I know it is. What did they do?"

"It's an official investigation and we may not—"

"Lisbon."

The small lady turned to her blonde partner, who didn't look like a cop to Steve. "What?"

The blonde stepped forth, staring at Steve. "You're a cop, right? Are you supposed to meet someone here tonight? A secret meeting?"

"Yeah. But how did—"

"Civilians don't confront cops on crime scene if it doesn't involve them. You came here, asking what did those people do, meaning you're worried if these guys hurt someone related to you. And your response, when my colleague Lisbon told you it's a crime scene, that's way too harsh if you're not a police officer yourself."

It took exceptional men to startle Steve, and this blonde was such. For a moment, Steve was silent. Then: "Yes, all you said is true. So what?"

"Whoever called you to come here wants to kill you."

Steve and Lisbon: "What?"

The blonde turned. "Cho. Give me one of these guys' iPhones."

An Asian cop tossed it to the blonde, who then quickly accessed it.

_Kaye sets me up? That's impossible, _Steve thought. Then said aloud the last part: "That's impossible."

"Impossible schmimpossible." The blonde put the iPhone up. Steve saw—

Himself.

END


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